


Remembrance

by leighjane



Series: Songs of the Universe [1]
Category: Class (TV 2016), Doctor Who (2005), Sarah Jane Adventures, Torchwood
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-05 16:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21211229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighjane/pseuds/leighjane
Summary: Indigo Arzaic is the epitome of familiarity, at least for the Doctor. For he knows more than anyone just how much time can be altered, and memories stolen for the sake of survival. But just how much can they take from him, when eyes like that beg him to dance to the songs of the universe.First in the Songs of Universe Series





	1. Extended Introduction

Remembrance. The action of remembering something.

One does not quite remember what they recognise, but the flush of warmth rushing through their veins reminds them of a time forgotten. Maybe it’s how her hair floats in the wind, dancing around a sculpted face as silent music causes flows of movement. Perhaps its the curiosity in her eyes as she dances across the universities lawn, unaware of the watchful eyes observing her from above. Whatever it was about Indigo Arzaic (and trust me when I say it was an awful lot), her mere presence was enough to catch the strangers attention and the feeling of home to settle within his broken hearts.


	2. To Pull the Trigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I apologise for the lack of my OC in this chapter, however, we needed a little background before her appearance shortly. I should also apologise for the lack of skill - I am in no way a writer BUT I am definitely hoping to gain some knowledge from this. That being said, cc is always welcome and I would love to hear from you. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Death is an increasing problem. With over a billion intelligent species active in this galaxy alone, it is an ever greater challenge to know how to kill all of them. On this planet, we are proud to serve as executioners to every living thing. The destruction of a Time Lord, however, is a particular honour." Execution. Funny, isn't it? You spend a lifetime and half taking on the job of a God, preventing the death of civilisations and yet there's still someone ready to destroy worlds full of people. The worst part: it's an honour to ravage the light from the universe, demolish her worth, and patch her up with darkness. Bringing down the most renowned races intergalactic history has ever seen makes you an individual who should be feared; an individual with the greatest power; an individual who believes they are removing the casus belli, the reason for war, when actually they are creating an even bigger problem. "This technology is precisely calibrated. As you can see, it will stop both hearts, all three brain stems, and deliver a cellular shock wave that will permanently disable regenerative ability" - but the man listening didn't look impressed - "I know how it works." What is the death penalty but a thought-out murder? Why should these people decide who lives and who dies? How does one decide if killing someone, taking away an individuals opportunity of happiness and prosperity, is the right thing to do? Did I make the right decision? "You certainly will in a moment. Following termination, the body will be placed in a Quantum Fold chamber, under constant guard for no less than a thousand years. In case of, shall we say, relapses. Life can be a cunning enemy. An additional stipulation of the Fatality Index is that the sentence must be carried out by another Time Lord. Apologies for our choice, but your people are not easy to come by."

The monster on trial was revealed through a door opposite to where both parties stood by the dais, overlooking the picturesque lakeside and castle. Assumably, is was the gentle movement of water and suppressed feeling of friendship that made the Victorian-dressed lady so calm minutes before her death; or maybe it was a glimpse of her madness that seems to spark up whenever we are in situations like these. "Oh! Doctor! I didn't expect you. Thought you'd retired. Domestic bliss on Darillium, thats the word among the Daleks. What happened? Oh, I see. My condolences." For once in her life, there was no sarcasm hidden within Missy's words. The taunts and sneers the Doctor had expected from the Time Lady were gone, replaced with genuine empathy and a hint of sadness that not even the Doctor could place. The death of River Song had left scars upon his two hearts, but they were stitched up with memories of love and normality. Never had she had an influence on the lady in front of him. Professor Song was apart of his life before. The ache within his hearts deepened as his mind wandered back down memory lane, reminding him of everything he had lost in the last hundred years, and everything he probably wouldn't find again. A whisper that had escaped Missy in a brief moment of foreboding, pulled the Doctors focus from the past and onto the lever next to the dais. No matter how much the Time Lady may deserve an execution, the thought of murdering his friend, and leaving himself alone in the universe, left a bitter taste in the Doctor's mouth. A gentle vibration was felt as a cube - the Quantum Fold chamber - pushed its way to the surface of the lake, mocking the short amount of time the old man had left to decide. To make a decision based on survival. "The Quantum Fold chamber is prepared. The sentence will be carried out. Executioner?"

The Doctor turned to face his old friend and placed a firm hand upon the lever. The decision had already been made. It was the natural thing to do; this was always going to be the response, for time had decided that these moments were meant to be together. Nothing could change the decision, not even the pleas from those you love. This had to be done. But perhaps time has other plans amongst the sacrifices we all have to make. Could us complying with her commands lead us onto a greater path; a reward for accepting the negative that our time streams hold. Before the Doctor had a chance to accept this fate, a cloaked figure approached from the maze of concrete holding what was assumed to be a holy book. Although short, the figure held authority that could be matched by no executioner, for he was a worker of time. "The executioner may now discuss his immortal soul and any peril thereunto." The cloaked figure beckoned the Doctor over, confusing his view with his emptiness and making him feel exposed, as if the cloaked priest was holding a gun to the old mans head. The walk was short, but time held her breath whilst analysing the choice the Doctor was going to make.

"Greetings, sinner. Only in darkness are we revealed. Goodness is not goodness that seeks advantage. Good is good in the final hour, in the deepest pit without hope, without witness, without reward. Good is the sea of aged mahogany floating in the wind. The modulated song before an outburst of a hearty roar. The impact of a blood-pumping wall, followed by a small-scale caress. Good is the gunmetal grey hidden behind a sweeping set of lashes, opening your mind to the universes song. But virtue? Virtue is only virtue in extremis. This is what he believes, and this is the reason above all, that time gives him another chance and loves him. Her husband. My madman in a box. Our Doctor."

The cloaked figure, upon reading his final sentence, slammed the book shut revealing a Tardis-style cover and crisp white envelope addressed to 'My Friend, Inspector Gadget'. The Doctor didn't know an Inspector Gadget (at least he didn't think he did) and yet a rush of warmth escaped the coldness he had become accustomed to since his sudden loneliness. Blueberries...not the fruit, but the taste. The thought produced an aura of sweetness with a hint of acid; anger, rawness and...blue? Something about what the cloaked figure had said ignited something in the Time Lord, and the safety was off - the process had begun. Pulling back the cowl to reveal his identity, the cloaked figure turned out to be a familiar face. "I don't think your family approve" hissed Nardole as if a similar, more familiar picture echoed the words he had spoken, "I had to follow you from Darillium after I was given this letter from River. She was very explicit that I came. Warning, I have full permission to kick your arse." Before the Doctor could come up with a smart response, the meeting was over and the Doctor's job of executioner returned. Missy, who had shown little concern over her execution thus far, gazed at the two who stood further away and felt a stinging in her eyes. For some reason, despite her faults and the harm she had caused, the Time Lady thought she had finally found a friend who would save her. Someone she could trust with her life, and reveal her true colours hidden beneath the complexity of a mad Time Lord. She thought time had been kind to her like it had for the other Gallifreyan present, yet all that was left of her chance of redemption - of her friend - was now a vague memory hidden within a diary. But lets make something clear, the Time Lady has never begged. There was no begging as her planet burned, as those she cared for died, as her plans failed and she lost the fight. Yet as the Doctor made his way back to the dais, she entered a state of panic and for the first time, just as everyone does in the end, she asked the Doctor for help. "I'll be good, I promise. I'll turn good. Please. Teach me, teach me how to be good."

Why couldn't he see the genuine look in her eyes? Had losing his light all those years ago really left a cold statue in the Doctors place; a contrast to the warmth that was flooding hers? Unbeknownst to her, the Doctor could see the change in his friend. Even the way she curtseyed in a sarcastic manner upon arrival had changed since the last time he had seen her. Nardole's words had consumed his every thought, and he couldn't help but mutter "Without hope. Without witness. Without reward." loud enough for the others to hear. "I am your friend." The Doctor didn't need any conformation to know that whilst the two never acknowledged each other as anything but enemies, the two were friends at heart - the last piece of hope each of them had. But this couldn't change time: "Makes no difference". The Doctor was a lonely God who walked among those that would always fall in the end. He had lost many friends to enemies, to time, and a few even to his own hands. What was one more? The Time Lady reached into her inside pocket, retrieving a crisp white envelope much like the one the Doctor had seen in Nardole's hands not too long before. With her head down, she released her final words:"I know it doesn't. I know I'm going to die. I have to say it, the truth. Without hope. Without witness. Without reward. I am your friend."

Upon her final words, the Doctor pulled the lever. Surges of energy emitted from the four columns attacked Missy's body, and she collapsed to the elevated floor in a small cloud of smoke. Turning away, the Doctor swore, "On my oath as a Time Lord of the Prydonian Chapter, I will guard this body for a thousand years." Pass the Time Lady, was now a burnt envelope out of reach of the dead's grasp. The whiteness and purity had been tainted by an old brownish burn of experience and time, hiding the cursive writing addressing a 'Mary Poppins' on the front. To make matters worse, a guard covered the paper with a footprint as they stepped forward to remove Missy's body from the podium.  
"Oi! Watch it" she protested, grasping the guards ankle, "Get off! I've just been executed. Show a little respect."  
"She's, she's alive" mutter Rafando, looking at the Doctor but finding little shock on the older mans face. "I was just a bit sleepy, all right? Let's not split hairs. Shut up. Night-night." And with that, Missy's head fell to her arms, and she fell into sleep - looking both dead and alive next to the water.

The Doctor has always been able to get himself out of bad situations. A quick check on the fatality index, and the vast number of recorded deaths known to be caused by him, meant that the threat upon that lakeside was soon over. All that was left was a sleeping figure on the floor, soon to be moved to a chamber located under a university. Whilst the threat was gone, a lingering thought echoed throughout the Doctors mind, a taste of a fruit not recognised by the Time Lord. As they moved Missy's body, as the Doctor found an office, as he found a friend in a canteen lady meant for much bigger things, the thought of a woman yet met blinded the want to escape this bound to Earth. Earth meant the breathtaking innocence of humans. Earth was filled with the blue of oceans and the sky. Earth allowed the growth of plants and the pot of fresh blueberries on the old mans desk. And whilst he failed to recognise the significance of this change, small moments slowed time and filled a small emptiness of the wound left by the process that could not be fixed. That was until the day of change. The day when, looking into the eyes of a tired student he was aware of a little too much, he realised blueberries were in fact not blue, but indigo.


End file.
